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by Radio Interference
Summary: Fox McCloud is portrayed as a hero by many.


**What the fuck was I supposed to be doing?**

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Merriment

And enjoyment. And the best feelings of life, all swirled up into one- everything. An unimaginable, well, cluster.

"congratulations on your child", says unnamed 9650656 for the umpteenth time.

And the man could not feel any better.

'Thank you," says Fox McCloud in reply, center of attention.

Beside to the truth. Say what you will. This canine, this male who has been through possibly one hell and two seventh levels, is grinning ear-to-ear.

He's proud of himself, yes.

But in so many more ways.

His family, it wasn't even suppose to survive. This, this was supposed to be a fluke, they all said. He was an orphan. And now he was here.

He triumphed over all those idiots.

Triumph, the feeling, it's not smug, but it feels good. There's always a description for sadness, for grief, for orgasms, for all that, but triumph is a feeling not recreated, but developed.

Does that make any sense to you? It shouldn't.

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The party's over. The incessant hum of vacuum motors are whining. Confetti and napkins all meet their ends.

And yet, this is all so strangely satisfying for McCloud, still. His moment had ended hours ago, but the giddy feeling of, well, fuck it, you're on top, you've won- It's still there.

Like a child waking up on Christmas, almost.

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"What are you gonna name it?"

"What? I don't know. Whatever she wants."

"Whatever she wants?" The bird grins- or does whatever is close to it physically- "Naw, man. Don't play that shit. 90 days and you're a dad, you're going to go and say whatever she wants?"

"Yeah, I guess." The vulpine says again.

The two friends exchange laughs, and continue on their ways.

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Time passes

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"Have you seen her?"

"Hmm? No, last time I saw her she was in the bathroom. Or something. I don't know. Girls," he finishes the sentence with a snort, like this is foreign territory to him. Fox was more inclined to just give a smile in reply, a weak one.

"Can I get you something on your way out?"

"No, it's late. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," calls the frog, looking bored.

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Time passes. No answer from the female. The fox is getting worried.

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11:23, the clock reads. He gets up, and yet, the other side of the bed is empty.

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Knocking on every door. Making no sense, but it's been around 3 hours with nothing doing. Moving forward, up and down several doors before stopping at one- on the other end, the sound of liquid splashing against compounds of stainless steel and other surfaces.

"Hey, you there?"

Audible cough. "yes"

"Are you sick or anything? I could-"

"I'm fine," she says, tone high and excited.

"Where were you today?" Fox says. Concerned. "We didn't see you much at the party, but afterwards, it was pretty quiet all around-"

Silence on the other side.

"Was it something I did?"

More silence.

"….This doesn't have to be a fight."

"It's nothing about you." she says. "I've kind of had an epiphany."

"You can enlighten me on the way out. Why were you in there for so long?"

"I was being forgiven."

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This exchange continues for around 6 more minutes.

Fox doesn't know what the shit he's listening to.

"This is all well and great, but could you _please _go to bed? We've been worrying."

_What have you been for the past ten years, Fox McCloud_

"I've seen the final sunrise-"

"KRYSTAL!"

The door does not burst in on the first try- it takes one or two smashes from the gun's side to loosen the knob's grip.

Fox McCloud bursts in,

"Quit it with this bullshit, alright?" The warning seems more like a quiver, for some reason. Not as demanding.

There he finds his wife and unborn baby on the floor, lying as peaceful as ever, life escaped from their body.

Across the mirror stall reads: **Murderer, REPENT!**

There's no feeling for him, no feeling to describe it, at all.


End file.
